


the scribe

by totaldwama



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/F, Metaphors, that's all the first chapter is really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22361980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totaldwama/pseuds/totaldwama
Summary: everybody has a name. some names aren't worth remembering.
Relationships: Female Sole Survivor/Piper Wright
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. a tribute

a tribute; to the scribe, and the book-burner. a tribute to cigarettes and candles left unlit, to confessions unspoken. a tribute to the lovers; a testament, to the insatiable will of the orphaned. a toast to unity, to good faith and true aim, to the leader. a toast to the sacrificed; to the scribe, and the book-burner.

one sentence bleeds into the next. her influence unparalleled, the scribe rests uneasily, knowing her name has been tarnished; rejected by mankind. it does not matter to the book-burner, however; her fire burns regardless.

a stain on the pages of the history books- on the coats of the revolutionaries. letters are twisted corpses, mangled beyond recognition; the page is bone-white, stained red and yellow with the colors of death, of rot and fly-spawn, of gore and what comes after- what remains of what was.

the scribe rolls in her grave, knowing her writings were so dirtied. she begs to return to her home, to mend what is broken, to cure the sick and weary- so immense is what ails her.

the road homeward, however, is dark, twisted, and cruel; so the book-burner follows, lighting her way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a key for the unenlightened:  
> "the scribe" - piper  
> "the book-burner" - nora (ss)  
> "the revolutionaries" - minutemen (specifically meant to reference preston... but i wanted to make it plural fsr.)  
> "the orphaned" - nat and piper


	2. unwritten

_my skin is crawling. the creatures passing over me tug at the rope i've tied so tightly around my neck. "what's the loss of one more life?" they jeer, as if theirs matter so much more than mine._

turning to these atypical means, to unimaginable, darkest, most twisted mannerisms- to the things left unspoken lest they betray the impurities in the air. they bestowed upon me cowardice, which left me with nothing.

thus, let them read the _words_ i left _unwritten_.

i'll show them. yes, i'll show them all. i'll show how severely they underestimated the power of the pen as opposed to the sword- a sword gives a clean cut, but the strike of a pen most often stays painful, rather than killing outright. the wounds they have left refuse to fade.

thus, let them hear the secrets they left untold.

foolishly, they think they can hide from the truth. naive they are- stronger now, i am. so childish and unrefined. they should accept the consequences of their actions. 

thus, let them read, and beg.

these words i left unwritten- no longer will they hide. let sweet justice be served unto them, driven by these remaining few, surveyed by i, in dead silence. i pray that through the prose my heart my shine and in that, blind the unworthy-

then, her brilliance may unfold.


End file.
